


Car Troubles and Not Quite Dates

by Psychopersonified



Series: Where was the wooing? [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Banter, Clueless Q, M/M, Minor Car Accident, Note quite dates, Q being a dork, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but yes dates, intimacy in plain sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychopersonified/pseuds/Psychopersonified
Summary: Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".This one revolves around a series of car troubles that inadvertently leads them to spend more time together.-------“So…. I’d offer you a lift, but something tells me you would be more comfortable taking the car service.” Q gestures to his dinky red Daihatsu apologetically.-------
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Where was the wooing? [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698100
Comments: 16
Kudos: 240





	Car Troubles and Not Quite Dates

**Incident #1**

It is absolutely pissing with rain and his DB5 is making that squealing noise again. Bond is not sure if it’s just moisture in the brakes or something more serious. 

If it were the brakes, he was hoping it would dry up by the time he had to leave. But now, four hours later, he can’t even engage the reverse gear to back out of the parking bay.

There is an awful grinding noise when he tries to throw the gear into reverse - startling people and drawing odd stares from the other employees leaving for the day in the SIS underground carpark. 

Among the exodus happens to be Tanner, briefcase in hand. He comes around to the driver’s side and Bond opens the door partway. Tanner is a bit of a gearhead himself and might be of some help. 

“Hmm… sounds frightful. The old girl acting up?” Tanner observes. 

“Yes…,” Bond agrees dully. 

“Did you engage the clutch fully?” Bond tries again, trying for first gear this time with the same result. The painful screech and grinding making both the men wince. 

“Try revving to 2000rpm, then engaging slowly.”

Bond does as instructed, depressing the clutch all the way, revving the engine slightly and then engaging the reverse gear. The gear engages, but with an unbearable screeching protest. He tries to release the clutch gently, but all that does is cause the car lurch back a few inches before cutting out. 

“I guess she’s just not in the mood today. Poor old thing.” 

_**:Beep! Beep!:** _

A cheery if somewhat cartoonish honk sounds in greeting from behind them. A tiny red 1981 Daihatsu Charade rolls up behind the DB5. The paint faded and bubbling in some spots and on other areas missing altogether.

The driver-side window slowly and jerkily winds down before stopping halfway. The driver peeks out over it and a familiar voice calls out to the two men. “Everything alright?” 

“Ah Q! Probably the best person to take look at this. What’s your assessment?” Tanner waves him over. 

Fifteen minutes later and the diagnosis is dire, Bond will have to leave the DB5 in the building. Q-Branch will take a look at the transmission and gearbox in the morning.

Tanner excuses himself shortly after that, leaving Bond in Q’s capable hands. 

“So…. I’d offer you a lift, but something tells me you would be more comfortable taking the car service.” Q gestures to his dinky red Daihatsu apologetically. 

“I’m not as much of snob as people make me out to be.” Bond collects his coat and locks the DB5.

“Oh, you mean that tantrum about flying economy two weeks ago was entirely a figment of my imagination?” Q reminds Bond as the agent walks past him. 

“Well… when one is conducting business, one should keep up appearances should we not? Lest we give our ‘clients’ the wrong impression?” He circles round the back of the Daihatsu to get to the passenger side. 

The agent hooks a finger around the door handle and pulls, internally relieved that it didn’t come right off, “Privately however, I’m not averse to rubbing shoulders with the working class once in a while.” 

Q chortles, “Suit yourself.” - giving him fair warning and gets into the driver’s seat. 

* * *

—

So… Bond might have spoken too soon. The rain hasn’t let up and the humidity is making the inside of the car fog up. The heating is… intermittent at best, so Q has to to wipe down the windscreen and windows with a towel (Bond had wondered what the little piece of cloth on the dash was for) when it gets too difficult to see out of. To top it off, the wiper blades need replacing - the noise they make is grating while doing jack all to remove water from the glass, merely smearing it around.

He supposes he should be thankful that the seatbelts work. Bond’s hope that the unassuming little car was hiding some high-tech Q-type modification was dashed quickly. It really was just a four decade old mass produced Japanese car with a rusty undercarriage that is letting moisture seep in. 

Dinner made up for it though. They stopped at an American style pub in Chelsea for some sinfully greasy burgers and southern grill & fry. The red brick walls and cozy booths made for a lovely intimate atmosphere despite the kitschy americana decor. 

With the conversation free flowing and comfortable, they stay longer than either expected. 

———————————

**Incident #2**

There is an ominous dark puddle under the DB5. _-Lovely. What now?-._ Bond wonders. The thing about driving a classic is that while it might add to one’s debonair charm; no one understands how temperamental they can be. A handcrafted British icon might in theory, sound like the final word in quality - but in reality it is far more unreliable than a modern mass produced machine. 

Bond remembers hitting a speed hump a little more vigorously than he should have on the way in. Perhaps that has shaken something loose. 

He removes his jacket tossing it onto the driver seat and crouches beside the car, careful not to get oil on his clothes. Turning on his phone’s flashlight, he sweeps the beam underneath the car to assess the situation. He can’t see exactly where the leak is coming from, but it is patently obvious how large the puddle of oil is. Not a good sign. 

“Bond? Car trouble?” Moneypenny says by way of greeting. 

Bond straightens from his position on his hands and knees then turns around. Eve is standing with several other women from the various departments in MI6. They are all watching him with interest. 

He smiles charmingly at them, “Unfortunately. Careful where you step ladies, the floor is slick.” 

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Edna from Procurement enquires. 

“Not yet. Couldn’t get a good look.”

“I can hold your flashlight for you….” Samantha from Accounts volunteers. “...if that helps.” Eve turns slowly to fix her with a disapproving look.

“Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I’ll have it dealt with in the morning. “

“Do you need a lift home? We’re not in a hurry this evening,” Ginny from Research offers. Eve targets her glare at her next.

Bond is a little surprised at the offer, “How… considerate; but I wouldn’t want to keep you from your plans for the evening.” 

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all. We’re just heading out for dinner and drinks.” Edna chimes in, “Perhaps you’d like to join us?” The three ladies level him with hopeful looks. 

Eve throws her hands up n the air in exasperation. Next to her, Jenny Khoo better known as R from Q-Branch ends the call she was making and pockets her phone. 

“Come on ladies, let’s go before before they give away our reservation. No need to worry about 007. He’ll be taken care of. Someone from Q-Branch is on the way.” Jenny reassures her colleagues and winks at Bond.

“Shoo-now, move along, nothing to see,” Eve prods the others along when they didn’t seem inclined to go. 

“Enjoy your evening ladies,” Bond waves to them as they leave. 

**_:Meep! Meep!:_ **

An honest to goodness golfcart rolls up next to his parking bay. Security uses one of these for patrols around the grounds of the building, but this is one belongs to Q-Branch. Bond has seen the minions use it to ferry equipment and packages around the grounds. 

The driver today is none other than the Chief Overlord himself. He takes one look at the size of the dark puddle and shakes his head. 

“Judging by the speed of the leak, it could be a ripped pipe or a cracked oil pan. Either way, we’ll need to drain the system before repairs. I’ll get someone to have a look in the morning.” 

Bond watches as Q unloads a large shallow metal pan from the golfcart and nudges it under the DB5 to catch the remaining leak. Then spreads a bucket of sand around the edges to stop it from spreading further. He even has a ‘Caution: Slippery floor’ sign that he places behind the DB5 to warn everyone. 

Satisfied that this would have to do for now, he turns to Bond, “Need a lift?” 

“Of course.” Bond smiles. 

—

He’s back in the little red atrocity. At least it is not raining tonight. However, without the rain and the distracting noise of the wipers scraping against the windscreen, Bond now can concentrate on the other annoying aspects of the car. 

Like how the seat cushions are threadbare and the foam compressed to near nothing, he can feel the springs digging into his backside. And how the turn signals make the most irritatingly sharp and neurotic ‘click-clack’. The passenger side window winder handle is missing so the metal nub is exposed and digging into the side of his thigh. At least the prospect of dinner with Q makes up for it.

They end up at an alfresco Vietnamese noodle bar. The little establishment is wedged between two buildings and partially hidden behind a flower shop. 

They each get a large bowl of pho - the bracing noodles in beef broth, perfect on a chilly evening. Intimacy is augmented by the crowded seating and small furniture which meant that they had to sit opposite each other, with their knees knocking. They quickly manage to find a comfortable compromise, slotting their knees between each other’s thighs - which suited Bond well enough. Any brushing and squeezing, was purely accidental. 

With dinner over far too quickly, they decide to head over to a nearby pub for a pint.

———

Edna elbows Sam when she sees the couple that just walked in. Their table in the dining section at the back of the pub is angled perfectly to offer them a good view of the patrons coming and going. Sam’s fork nearly flies out of her hand from the assault. 

“Eddie! What the hell—” Sam hisses in annoyance. 

“Look! At the bar…” Edna hisses back. 

“What are you girls on about?—” Eve turns around in curiosity, her back was to the bar. She spots the blonde first. The neatly cropped almost military style hair she recognises even from the back. The second man, the whip thin brunette with the shock of messy hair is partially obscured by the larger blonde crowding against him. 

“Who’s he with?”

“Isn’t that Collin Mitchel from Q-Branch? Jenny, don’t you work with him?” 

“Huh, I didn’t know they hung out.”

“Should we invite them over?” 

“NO.” Both Eve and Jenny answer in unison. The other three look at them like they have gone mad. 

“Well, it’s only polite.” Ginny decides with a stubborn air. She uncrosses her legs and starts to stand. In an instant, Eve has her wrist in a death grip - pulling her back down. She searches R’s face for an excuse. She’s got too much riding on those two getting together for a bunch of horny harpies to ruin it - even if they might be her friends. 

Jenny cooks one up on the spot, “Ginny wait! Um… I report to Collin. I already have to see him on a daily basis, I don’t fancy having to see him after hours too.” Jenny pleads for understanding. 

“Is he that awful?” Edna jumps to conclusions. 

“No! No. It’s just... we’ll end up talking about work and that’s not what tonight is about is it?” Jenny is quick to nip that misunderstanding in the bud. 

Ginny does not look particularly convinced. Neither do the other two but they let it slide... tonight. 

Back at the bar, the two collect their pints and retreat to a corner to continue their conversation. Again thank goodness for crowded establishments. They find a couple of high bar stools and Bond seats himself with his back to the wall, legs apart. He pulls the other chair close to separate them from the other patrons in the bar. Q settles in after, making no move to adjust the chair’s distance which effectively puts him between Bond’s thighs. 

Their body language is unmistakable. It speaks of comfort levels beyond that of colleagues and even some friends. Small touches, arms and shoulders brushing, practically whispering into each other’s ears. Bond’s chest is pressed against Q’s shoulder at one point when he leans in close to whisper something and then conveniently doesn’t lean away again. 

In the dinning area, the five women watch unblinking. Eve and Jenny share a hopeful conspiratorial look. Then Sam verbalises what they are all thinking, “Huh… wonder what they’re talking about?”

—

Amid the din of the bar, the incredulity in Q’s voice can still be heard, “You want… a wing suit. Have you gone mental?” The green eyes behind the glasses are shining with mirth. 

Bond makes a face and shrugs - pressed close as they are, the movement produces a pleasant comforting friction against the shoulders and arms, “Might come in useful.”

Q smiles companionably, faint dimples showing, “How about we leave the HALO missions to the SAS?” 

—————————————————

**Incident #3**

The key turns but the DB5’s engine does not roar into life as expected. Instead it chokes and sputters before wheezing like an asthmatic, then cuts off completely. 

Bond twists the ignition key back to ‘off’ and rests his forehead on the steering. He loves the old thing but it is starting to really test his patience. Classic cars like these do not take well to being left undriven for long stretches at a time. 

He tries the ignition again - the engine whines and sputters noisily in protest, refusing to turn over. There is a small crowd gathering. - _Why doesn’t this happen when no one is around?-_

He pops the bonnet and reaches in to check the connection on the batteries. 

“I could give you a jump?… I mean for the battery.” Bond turns around to face the the woman calling out to him. - _Samantha_. Accounts.- he recalls her name. 

She’s dressed a little nicer than usually required for a government employee. Likely going out considering its Friday evening - the shoes give it away. 

“Thank you. But I wouldn’t want to impose.” He tries to decline politely. 

“Oh no! It would be no trouble at all.” Samantha begins to root through her little purse for her keys. 

“Sam! We’re leaving.” Moneypenny’s voice rings out from somewhere behind her. 

“But—“ Sam beings to protest. Eve appears next to her. 

“Oh, evening Bond. Car troubles again?” Eve ever the observant one. “Need any help, or is this something only Q-Branch can deal with?” She smiles egnimaticaly. 

Bond takes the escape route he’s been given, “I think it’s best to let the boffins take a look at it.” He unlocks his phone to make a call, more to bring home the point than anything. 

_**:Brring! Brring!:** _

A trilling bell alerts them to the new presence. It is attached not to a bicycle but to a Segway - another one of those vehicles that security uses to patrol inside the building and around the grounds. Which of course means that Q-Branch has a couple as well - used to zip around the labs and onsite storage facility. 

Q glides to a silent stop next to the DB5. He looks adorably ridiculous in the dorkiest way possible - high-vis vest and a neon orange bicycle helmet over his usual shirt and cardigan ensemble. 

Bond only just manages to catch Eve’s whispered lament, “Oh sweetheart, why?”

“Hello Eve, Samantha. Evening Bond, trouble with the car again?” He asks pleasantly whist manoeuvring the Segway out of the way. 

“Well! Seems like you’re in good hands 007. We best get going. Night Q!” Eve takes her leave - pulling a reluctant Sam along by the elbow. 

“Oh! Good night ladies.” Q calls out to them, surprised at the abrupt departure. 

Bond recalls R mentioning that the Quartermaster’s afternoon was booked for a meeting with a component manufacturer, “Q, please tell me you didn’t go into the meeting with the external vendors looking like that?”

Q checks himself and shrugs, “Well, I took off the helmet during the meeting… Why?”

- _Oh Lord-_. “Oh, nothing.” He plays it off lightly. “Mind taking a look at this?” He circles back to the problem at hand.

A few minutes of tinkering later and the DB5 is still obstinately dead. 

“Well, the old thing due for an overhaul I think. It’s almost six decades old and seen some fairly serious action. Are you sure you want to keep it? I could just have it decommissioned. And we could issue you with a Prius as your daily driver.” Q knows that would get a rise out of the agent. 

Bond turns to him, expression one of stunned disbelief. _Decommission?… Prius?_ He’s not sure which idea offends him more. 

“Who _are_ you? And what have you done with the Quartermaster?” he gives Q his best interrogating-a-terrorist scowl. 

“I’m just being practical!” Q defends himself. Then grinning, “Joking about the Prius… maybe.”

“How about, you get someone to take a look at it on Monday?” Bond counters. 

“Alright. _Fine..._ Lift?”

“Yes please. Dinner first?”

“Sure, why not. Drinks after?”

“Would be my pleasure.”

—-

They treat themselves to a Korean BBQ a short walk from their building. Premium cuts of meat perfectly cooked on a grill at their table, ginseng chicken soup, crispy seafood pancake topped off with refreshing Korean beer. 

After dinner, they take a turn along the Riverside Walk across from the SIS building. However, that also meant that there stood a higher chance of them running into colleagues who might be thinking the same especially since it is a Friday evening. 

Which of course they they do. Eve is holding court with a few of the more outgoing ladies and gentlemen of MI6 at one of the fancy alfresco bars that line the Riverside Walk. Her little gathering turning into an impromptu party when more colleagues join in, taking the opportunity to enjoy the break in the weather. 

Trevelyan is among them, making his way around the group. His noisy socialising usually involve plenty of shoulder claps, hearty back pats and chummy faux punches with the men; and with the women, outrageous flirting if they let him. The unapologetic extrovert is everyone’s favourite Double-0. 

Bond and Q drop in to say hello and show face, then sequesters themselves on the edge to enjoy the collegial atmosphere and jazzy lounge music without being in the thick of it. 

When Alec finally makes his way them, he wedges himself between the two, throws a friendly arm around Q’s shoulders (or Collin Mitchel as he known by; his civilian cover) and drops his voice into a stage whisper, carefully loud enough so that no one misses out on their conversation, “So Mitchel, I heard the committee approved the budget for the new ‘fleet’…”

Alec is referring to the Black Budget that included rumours of an allocation to upgrade the performance vehicles used by the Double-0 division - simply put, the agents were all hoping for new very expensive toys. 

“…Who’s your favourite and how do _-I-_ get to the top of that list?” Trevelyan jabs himself in the chest with a thumb as he says this. 

Now this catches the attention of everyone within earshot. For those in the know, cash money might be riding on this answer. 

“Alec, who’s my favourite and the who’s on the list for an upgrade are separate things. You should know by now we prioritise based on ‘project’ requirements.” Q admonishes him. 

“Bah! Surely favouritism can get me somewhere.” Then more seductively,”You know… I’m not averse to performing favours when the occasion calls for it. I’m _very_ well trained…” Alec puts on his best come-hither face. 

Bond rolls his eyes at Alec’s theatrics and Q just laughs outright at the blatant attempt, nearly snorting on his drink. “Yes Alec. In case you’ve forgotten, _ALL_ of you are. I don’t see how that separates your value proposition from the others.”

Mark from IT (one of Q’s closest colleagues outside Q-Branch) supplies the appropriate sound effect - a loud descending whistle followed by a violent explosion. The table erupts into laughter. 

Undeterred, Alec pushes on, “Ah, so it’s not entirely out of the question, I just need to find my differentiating factor.”

Q tips his head close, matching Alec’s stage whisper from earlier. “Oh Alec, don’t be so hard on yourself,” he says to the agent sympathetically. “You differentiate yourself from the others on a regular basis. Compared to them, you’re a right plonker and an annoying bellend. Unfortunately neither qualities get you very high on either list.”

“Alec, quit now. There’s not enough hydro-gel plasters in medical to help you with that burn.” Bond joins in the friendly ribbing in between his own laughter. 

Raucous laughter. Even Alec has to laugh at his own roasting, hands in the air in surrender. 

—

It is late when they leave. Q rolls the car to a stop at the red light somewhere just outside Vauxhall. The night had been fun. Bond had been excellent company, and bizarrely he hadn’t gone off to catch a ride with Alec in his more image appropriate BMW. Q knew Bond hated his little Daihatsu with a passion but for some reason still accepted rides from him.

The light turns green and the Fiesta in the left lane next to theirs roll forward; Q’s old Charade is just a second slower off the line. 

He’s about to enter the junction when Bond sees it, a movement in his peripheral vision. A white Camry coming down the three o’clock street faster than it should. At that speed and distance, it is unlikely that whoever it is will be able to stop in time.

In a split second Bond’s reflexes kick in - he grabs the handbrake and pulls it hard. Q’s little car comes to an immediate jolting stop - throwing both of them into their seat belts and squeezing a surprised gasp from Q.

The Camry barrels through the intersection at considerable speed, missing them by a hair’s breadth. But the Fiesta next to them isn’t so lucky, the Camry clips it violently on the front right wheel arch, spinning the smaller Fiesta partially around and pushing it several feet up the onto the pavement. There is an explosion of plastic and metal debris all over the road. The Camry already on the other side of the intersection slows to a stop on the shoulder of the road. 

“Oh shit!... That was a close one,” Q is certain he had not touched the brakes yet the car came to a complete stop just in time. He checks for the cause and catches sight of Bond’s hand still wrapped around the handbrake.

Bond looks over at him, “You alright?” His right hand is already reaching for the seatbelt release. They should check if the other drivers are alright. 

Q nods, heart hammering in his chest, “Let me move out of the way.” 

He carefully manoeuvres his car around the debris field to the side of the road, behind the Camry. Just before Q comes to a full stop, the driver of the Camry seems to have had a change of mind. Instead of attending to the situation, it suddenly speeds off, tyres squealing. 

“Ah the wanker… PZ65BYV.” 

“Bugger it… PZ65BYV.” 

They both say at the same time as Camry disappears. They turn to each other, eyes locked for a moment - acknowledging the mutual training that helps them remember details like these when needed.

In the end, they stay with the unhurt but shaken 18 year old driver of the Fiesta and her friend until police and one of their parents arrive. They were on their way home from work at a local restaurant when the incident occurred. 

Q gives his statement as Collin Mitchel and gives them the number plates of the Camry; but keeps Bond out of the police report. He doesn’t have any cover identification at the moment and they don’t want his real name appearing in police databases even as a witness. 

—

“Thank you… for pulling the handbrakes earlier. A few feet more and it would be a different story. I owe you for that,” Q puts the car into park in front of Bond’s building. 

“Just reflex. No need to get all gushy.” The agent downplays his action.

“Well thanks to your reflex, it was a near miss. So I’m very glad you were in the car. ”

“Speaking of near misses, are there _any_ safety equipment in this car? Seatbelts aside?” Bond can’t imagine the thin sheet metal doors would hold up to any kind of collision. 

Q looks sheepish, “Haven’t found the time. Besides, fitting missile launchers into a supercar is far more exciting.” 

Using humour to deflect the question only increases Bond’s unease. He can read between the lines. In Q’s list of priorities, his own safety is below that of his agents. Granted he is hardly ever in the line of fire, they make sure of it - but tonight has demonstrated that they can’t take his safety for granted even off duty. Bond’s instinct, the same one that pulled the handbreak serves up a word: _Unacceptable_. 

On a whim he asks, “Would you like to come up?” Then when he glimpses Q’s cautious expression, he adds with a smile, “Aren’t you the least bit curious?” 

Of course Q’s curious. But he’d never thought it appropriate to ask before. “Is there anywhere I can park?” 

—

The apartment is fastidiously clean but depressingly bare. Q tells him so. He had expected the complete opposite. Perhaps cluttered with objects from his extensive travels - a refuge from the impersonal hotel rooms that the agent is subjected to so often. Somewhere Agent 007 becomes just James Bond. 

“Tea? Coffee?” Bond asks once the tour is done, not waiting for an answer before putting the kettle on. He’s scrambling for a good enough reason that would stall Q’s departure. There is nothing he can come up with that is the least bit sexual, because he has never faced this context before i.e. taking it _slow_. 

He removes his jacket and holster, then turns on the telly to give himself time to think. It is tuned to to BBC One; the usual litany of depressing world news scrolls by - sex scandals, mindless violence, systemic financial fraud, looming global recession, security threats and sabre rattling between world powers. Just one night, he’d like to escape it all. 

“Tea please.” Q answers coming out of the bathroom. 

- _Yes!_ \- Bond thinks, he’s at least committed to stay for as long as the tea lasts. Bond retreats to the kitchen dutifully, handing the remote to Q as he passes. 

When he returns, it is with a _large_ mug of tea for Q and a coffee for himself. The telly is now showing the Netflix landing page. Q scrolling though the catalogue at a dizzying speed. 

He rarely watches it himself, not for want of trying, but just the sheer variety gives him decision fatigue. He usually ends up spending more time _deciding_ what to watch than actually watching. 

“You don’t mind do you? Just that the news was depressing.” Q gestures to the screen with the remote. 

“No. Go ahead. Netflix and chilling is fine with me.” He had heard the phrase before and he assumes it is a reference to how media content is consumed on demand these days.

Q pauses his high-speed scrolling to look over at Bond who is now settled casually on the armchair - not a trace of irony on his face. 

For once, Q has to smile at Bond’s innocence, “I don’t think it means what you think it means...” he gently leads Bond to correct his own assumptions.

“What? … Netflix and Chill?” Bond looks perplexed for a second, “Wait… it’s not a euphemism is it?”

“It absolutely is.” 

Bond shrugs away his embarrassment, “Learn something new everyday. Right then, what are we watching?” 

They end up watching the first three episodes of ‘A Very Secret Service’. A comedic and irreverent take on the French Secret Service set in the 1960s which pokes fun at the spy film genre - the bureaucracy, the tactics, the gadgets and the politics. All of which they can relate to. It is therapeutic in a way, to be able to find humour in their work - a brief escape to decompress. 

Q is asleep, curled on the sofa by the time the credits roll on the third episode. Bond pauses the show. He looks for a blanket to cover the boffin with. 

“Wha-time issit?” the question comes out endearingly sleepy and slurred. 

“One thirty.” Bond answers softly as he tucks the blanket around him. 

“Oh goodness… apologies. Must have been more tired than expected.” Q yawns and makes a half hearted attempt to sit up. “I probably should get going.”

“Stay. You shouldn’t be driving in this state.” Then before Q can make up a protest, ”Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” 

Q really did feel exhausted. Besides there is no harm staying the night for the sake of safety, right? It should be commendable even. “Mmm… okay.” 

—

The sight of Q padding around his kitchen in the morning clad in oversized sweats and sporting the most unruly hair nearly sent him back-pedalling into his room. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all, considering his self-control. - _SLOW! We agreed to take it slow._ \- he argues with his libido. 

He takes Q out for breakfast as soon as the shops open - which meant out of Bond’s clothes and into a public area. This way he is forced to keep his hands to himself, more or less and his pants on.

—————

**Three weeks later…**

“Bond… I can’t accept this!” Q protests. The agent had lured him to the parking garage under the pretence of squeaky breaks on his DB5 - but instead of the Aston Martin, a completely different and much newer car was parked in its space. 

The late model red Hyundai i30 in front of him is wearing a small tacky stick-on bow made from metallic plastic ribbon on the driver side-mirror. 

“Not to worry, it’s second hand. I managed to get a good deal.” Bond waves the concern away - as if that made it better. Like a car was a perfectly normal gift among friends. 

“Bond this is ridiculously extravagant. I’m a government employee—“ 

“—So am I. Consider it a birthday present.”

“I already have a car, Bond.”

“Yes… but this one…” Bond opens the driver-side door. “This one, all the electronic bits work. And more importantly, it comes installed with fancy active and passive safety features.” 

He uses a finger to point out each feature on the car as if Q didn’t know more about automotive engineering than he did, “All round airbags… anti-lock brakes… stability control… crumple zones… side impact bar… passenger safety cage—”

“—Bond!” Q cuts the agent’s sales pitch short. “I can’t accept gifts that may appear to compromise my personal judgement or integrity,” he quotes the government rulebook. 

“Yes I know…” his patience running out, time for a different tack. Bond walks back towards to the bloody-minded quartermaster, crowding him into the crook of the open driver side door, cutting off escape routes, and regards him seriously. 

“Look, don’t think I don’t appreciate how sentimental that little Daihatsu is to you. I know, you’ve had it since university and you think that quirky little thing is an extension of your personality, but frankly Q… it would help me sleep better at night if I knew you weren’t driving around in that death trap.”

Q is rendered speechless. Both by Bond’s uncharacteristically sweet but misguided gesture and the unexpected admission. 

“You don’t have to get rid of of the Charade - just, don’t drive it around… _Please_?”

It’s the ‘please’ that gets him - turns him gooey inside. Bond could have said ‘I love you’ and the effect would have been the same.

He sags against the doorframe, holding a hand out for the keys. “I don’t see your DB5 around, so I’m assuming you’ll need a lift home?”

Bond has a massive grin on his face, “How kind of you to offer. Dinner first?”

“Naturally. Drinks after?” 

“Needless to say.” 

——The End ——---

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Car Troubles and Not Quite Dates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639290) by [Yuurei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuurei/pseuds/Yuurei)




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